


lazy mornings

by astronomicallie



Series: astronomicallie's inktober 2019 [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Morning After, Morning Cuddles, sex the night before is vaguely mentioned but nothing explicit to my knowledge, this is so warm i'm soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-12-01 19:21:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20873078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astronomicallie/pseuds/astronomicallie
Summary: Felix never realized how much commitment could be shown just in choosing to spend the night until, well, he actually had someone to commit to. Or, hefigured outhe had someone to commit to.(It was a mutual figuring out. The results are worth the wait.)day 2: mindless





	lazy mornings

Sunlight streams in, bright and brilliant and bringing with it a bit of warmth to staunch the cold that clings to the monastery stone. Felix finds himself awoken when a patch finally rests on the sheets over his body, heating him out of the blissful ignorance of sleep. His eyes slip open to narrow slits to take in the world around him before they close once more. Perhaps he— _they— _should have had the forethought to draw the curtains last night, but… they were preoccupied, to say the least.

He stretches, debating whether or not to try to remember the events of the past night. There was _something_ he had to do, he’s almost certain. But that’s drowned out by the memory of adoring murmurs, low tones, lips against his, skin on skin— to the point that he can’t figure out just what it was that he skipped doing.

Yes, _preoccupied_ is certainly a word for it.

Felix prides himself in having a pretty steady mindset. He’s not one to let distractions draw him away from necessities too often— then again, his list of ‘necessities’ in life, for the longest time, solely consisted of ‘training.’ Written in bold ink, underlined and boxed out. The years have matured him, or is it the war that taught him that there’s more to life than becoming the best (and chasing ghosts, and vowing to prevent more from appearing)? Perhaps it’s both. Perhaps it’s neither. He doesn’t often put thought into _why_ he is who he is today, he just _is_. It’s simpler, that way. It’s why Byleth’s question, five years ago, had thrown him so off track— no, he didn’t know _why_ he was so determined to pursue strength to the very end. He just knows he _did_. It still feels like he does.

But then an arm tightens around his middle, snagging him as if there was any chance of him pulling away so soon. Warm breath fans over the nape of his neck, just before someone starts nuzzling him. Felix snorts, a hand falling to the offending arm and patting it.

“It’s morning,” he says, eyes still closed. “We should already be up.”

The groaned _Nooooo_ settles over him like a blanket, so achingly endearing and yet still _very_ amusing. “Lemme stay like this for a little longer,” Sylvain murmurs, and Felix _knows_ that his eyes are still closed, lips barely moving as he drifts in and out of the embrace of sleep. “I don’t get to wake up like this enough.”

“Like what?” Felix asks, allowing himself to smile when literally no one can see it.

“With you in my arms.”

Felix opens his eyes only to roll them, squirming through the rush of affection. “You wake up like this nearly every morning.” Everyone knows about them at this point, there’s no reason to be sneaking around like a pair of lovestruck teenagers.

That’s… one of the most promising developments, in their relationship. The fact that Sylvain’s more than willing to _stay_ in his room, and will stay in Felix’s when they end up there instead. The fact that they allow their clothes to litter the floor at night because they both know they’ll be around to pick up the mess in the morning. Felix never realized how much commitment could be shown just in choosing to spend the night until, well, he actually had someone to commit to. Or, he _figured out_ he had someone to commit to.

(It was a mutual figuring out. The results are worth the wait.)

“_Nearly_ is not enough.” Sylvain’s tone betrays his pout. “Besides, that’s not even true. Sometimes you’re already getting up and dressed. Sometimes you’re dressed _in bed_.”

“Because I have things to do.”

“But not _today_.” A grown man whining softly into Felix’s ear should not fill him with nearly as much love as it does. “You heard the professor. We have an off day.”

Which still sends Felix reeling. An _off day_, in the middle of a war? He can’t argue against people needing breaks, but there’s an urgency in everything they do, every little step they take on their way to Enbarr, that leaves little room for people to relax. Yet, when they had returned from another successful mission, Byleth had been sure to drill into their minds the fact that they’ve earned this bit of reprieve.

_You__’ve earned years of it_, she had said, her voice bitter and soft. _But we can__’t afford that. A day must be enough._

Felix had every plan in mind to use this day to keep himself on top of things. He wasn’t going to grow complacent and lay around for an entire twenty-four hours— that’s not who he _is_. And yet, with Sylvain’s hand splaying over his bare stomach, warmth radiating right into him, he finds himself swayed just a little bit.

“Fe,” Sylvain says, pulling him snug and pressing his lips to his nape, “take a break. For me?”

“I’ve slept in late enough.”

A pause, then, and Felix can feel the frown that spreads over Sylvain’s face. Perhaps that wasn’t the best thing to say, but it’s what came out. That’s who he is— he’s not good with words, not good with comfort.

“Remember when we said we’d die together?”

_Oh, for the love of—_ “Of course I do.”

“You should definitely stay.” Sylvain grins against his neck, voice mischievous. “If you leave, I’m going to die. Plain and simple.”

“You will _not_.”

“Will too!” Sylvain’s snicker shakes the two of them, brought on by the semi-lucidity of the morning. “You’re keeping my heart beating, if you left I’d breathe my _last_.”

“Not if you left with me.”

Sylvain huffs. “Don’t poke holes in my reasoning. The point stands: if you leave this bed, I’ll cease to be.”

Felix pauses, then, and weighs his options. It doesn’t take too remarkably long. He shifts, lifting himself up with an elbow and trying (failing) to ignore the tortured exasperation that rings in Sylvain’s groan. The arm drops from around his waist— even though Sylvain will whine all he wants, he’s never going to _make _Felix do anything he doesn’t want to.

“There you go. I’m leaving this plane of existence as we speak. I—”

Felix turns, propping himself up over Sylvain. His free hand moves to rest on his cheek, and those honeyed eyes open. They’re still glazed over, but there’s no doubt that a flare of adoration lights up in them when they find his face. He’s not entirely sure why— he knows for a fact that his hair is a mess, mussed into disarray last night because Sylvain refuses to leave it be, and there’s sure to be at least two spots of dark purple on his neck. More trailing lower.

Then he takes in Sylvain’s similarly messy hair, and the bite mark on his bare shoulder, and realizes the appeal.

He brushes his thumb over Sylvain’s cheekbone, as if he can rub wakefulness into him. Sylvain leans into his touch like always.

“Don’t joke about that,” Felix says, voice soft despite the fact that it feels like they’re the only two people in the world right now.

Sylvain’s brows knit, then his eyes light up in slow understanding. “Okay.”

He doesn’t ask why, doesn’t need to. Felix doesn’t have to explain that even a small jest fills him with the idea of Sylvain _actually_ dying, actually leaving. The idea that turns his heart into a tiny, cold stone that clatters to the ground. He knows Sylvain feels the same, if he takes the time to imagine the roles reversed.

(It took him a while, but he finally _knows_.)

Felix leans down to press a chaste kiss to Sylvain’s forehead because he knows the woes of morning breath, and he won’t be one to subject Sylvain to it the moment he opens his eyes.

No, that task goes to Sylvain himself, who hums when Felix pulls away and reaches a hand to curl around his neck, easily bringing him back. The kiss is slow and languid and accompanied with sighs, such a contrast to last night’s fast and desperate and full of muffled moans. Felix likes both equally, but they affect him differently. This sets a slow burn in his veins, traveling to his chest, up his neck, to the beginnings of a blush on his cheeks. That’s one thing that refuses to change: he’ll always go red when Sylvain treats him like he’s precious and treasured.

It’s rare that he feels _treasured_. He’s still getting used to it.

When they part, Sylvain continues to look up at Felix like he hangs the fucking sun and moon. He combs navy hair with his fingers, reverent, and Felix opens his mouth to tell him to snap out of it just as he whispers (_whispers_, like the words are _sacred_): “I love you.”

Felix narrows his eyes when Sylvain’s lips spread in a dizzying grin, no doubt noticing his fluster. “You’re so… _sappy_ in the mornings.”

Sylvain’s eyebrows raise. “Is that a complaint? I’ll _gladly_ be sappier in our day-to-day life.”

“Don’t. It’s already more than enough.”

“That’s a weird way to say ‘I love you, too.’”

Felix huffs, and Sylvain’s breath leaves him in a soft laugh. “You already know it, don’t you?”

“I want to hear it.”

And, dammit, Felix can’t say no so early in the morning to that face. He wishes he could, but his immunity started breaking down the moment they’d fallen into each other months ago, kissing like it was their last chance when it was only their first. He falls into Sylvain once more (who gives a soft _oof_), half-laying on him with their chests pressed together as he noses for his throat, tucking himself there like he has so many times before.

“I love you, too,” he whispers, lips brushing heated skin.

“I love you.” Sylvain presses a kiss to the top of his head, no doubt having to crane his neck to do so. In a slow movement, he rolls them over, so he hangs above Felix like a stupidly attractive chandelier. “I love you,” he says, kissing Felix’s forehead. “I love you.” Felix’s cheek. “_I love you_.” His lips, his jaw, his neck. Over and over, he utters the words. Over and over, until it’s mindless babble, and the words are slurred, breathy, gorgeous.

Felix doesn’t leave bed for a while after that, but only because Sylvain can be _very_ convincing when he needs to be.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter @astronomicallie if you want to see me yell!
> 
> this was so soft and self indulgent... been feeling kinda down and i couldn't bring myself to write any angsty "mindless" thing so here we go! i hope y'all liked it-- comments/kudos are appreciated, as always. thank you so much for reading, and have a wonderful day!


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